


The sun shines under the clouds

by apolesen



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - World War I, M/M, World War I
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-09
Updated: 2013-01-09
Packaged: 2017-11-24 07:38:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/632017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apolesen/pseuds/apolesen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While his company is assigned to the reserve trenches of the Western Front, Sirius Black starts to realise that he is not the only one among his friends who has secrets.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The sun shines under the clouds

**Author's Note:**

> WWI, almost-but-not-quite non-magical AU. Originally written for the Winter Wolfstar Wank on Tumblr, and later slightly revised.

The sky went from black to grey with the dawn. Sirius found it difficult to imagine Flanders ever having been hit by the sun. It was as if this part of the world was in a constant state of twilight, not knowing whether to tip into day or night. While he leaned against the wooden support of the trench wall, smoking a cigarette, he watched the clouds growing lighter. A few miles to the west, he could hear a noise like the snore of some fairytale monster. There must be a shelling happening. He wondered which side was the target.

His company had not been at the front line for a week, and he was not looking forward to going back. Here in the reserve trenches, he could almost fool himself that the front line and the no-man’s-land stretched ahead of it had been an elaborate nightmare. It would not last that way, he knew. In two weeks at most, they would be moved forward again, and the companies manning the front trenches now would move back. The poor devils would need it. The noise and the stench alone was enough to make people funny, never mind the sleepless nights and the constant risk of death. 

Sirius’ brooding were interrupted by the sound of irregular footsteps approaching. Recognising the gait, he stepped on his cigarette and straightened his cap. The next moment, the major rounded the corner, and Sirius stood to attention. 

‘Morning, Black,’ Major Moody said gruffly, looking him up and down with his one good eye, looking for something to correct. 

‘Good morning, sir,’ Sirius answered loudly. The major gave a snorted ‘hm’, as if disappointed that there was nothing to complain about. Out of the corner of his eye, Sirius watched him limping out of sight. 

Later at breakfast, the subject of the major came up, as it often did. He was an ungentle commanding officer, but he had his men in awe of him. 

‘What’s he doing out here, anyway?’ Potter said under his breath, making sure no one was listening in. ‘It’s not like he has to be at the front. It can’t be. It’s a wonder he wasn’t invalided out in the Boer War.’ 

‘Was that when he lost his eye?’ Sirius asked. Potter nodded. 

‘From what I heard. But he lost his leg before that.’ 

‘If I was him, I’d get a cushy desk job at the War Office,’ Pettigrew said. ‘He must’ve been offered it. I mean, he’s a legend. He must’ve turned down the promotion.’ 

‘Perhaps he prefers being here,’ Lupin suggested. He had not said anything during the conversation, but had only listened attentively, as he so often did. 

‘How can you prefer _this_?’ Pettigrew asked incredulously. 

‘Doesn’t it speak well of him?’ said Lupin. ‘He rather shares the reality of the soldier than pushes around markers in the planning-room.’ 

The others had been whispering or muttering, struggling to keep their voice quite enough, but when Lupin spoke, his voice was soft and subdued without any effort restraining it. It made Sirius turn to look at him. He kept finding new things about Lupin which he found captivating, whether in his calm voice, his sensitively curved upper lip or the lock of hair which fell onto his forehead. 

Realising he was probably staring, Sirius shook himself and said: 

‘His eye, though. Couldn’t’ve gotten one that matched the other?’ Both Potter and Pettigrew nodded and chuckled. 

There was a noise at the door to the mess, and Potter jumped to his feet. 

‘Post!’ Pettigrew got up too, and after a moment’s hesitation, Sirius followed them. Only Lupin stayed in his place, not looking towards the queue of soldiers waiting for news from home. 

Potter had one letter from his parents and two from his fiancée. Pettigrew had one for his mother. As always, Sirius had not received anything, just as he had known. He spent he remainder of the breakfast listening to Potter reading chosen parts of Lily’s letter to him. Usually he was happy to listen - in the middle of all this, it was nice to be reminded that England still existed somewhere, and people were leading normal lives. Today, however, he felt distracted. He thought back and realised that in the months since they had known each other, he had not noticed Lupin receiving even one letter. Perhaps he hid them away - some soldiers did, desperate for some small privacy - but there was something about the way he had stayed in his place that signalled that he did not expect any letters at all. 

Sirius mulled this over all through the morning drills, adding it to his mental list of mysteries surrounding Lupin. It did not make sense for a soldier not to receive letters, at least not one who had someone waiting for him. There were probably lots of good reasons why Lupin would not get letters. Perhaps he was an orphan. He had never spoken of his family, so perhaps that was it. Sirius had almost made his mind up that this must be the case and had decided not to bring it up, until he was assigned that afternoon’s guard duty together with Lupin. They stood in silence in a part of the trench which seemed empty except for them. Sirius was not certain why they needed guards in the reserve trenches anyway. The Boche didn’t suddenly sprout out of the ground or appear out of thin air. He supposed it was one of those many things they were made to do just for discipline. 

A soft rain started falling, making Sirius sigh. 

‘Lovely,’ he muttered. 

‘Inspiring weather,’ Lupin agreed. 

‘Do you think this place ever gets any proper sun?’ 

‘I don’t know if I want it to,’ he said. ‘Imagine carrying pack and rifle and everything on a hot summer’s day.’ Sirius grunted. 

‘I suppose so. I’m not looking forward to it getting colder, either.’ Now, Lupin actually laughed. It was little more than a chuckle, but it was a heartwarming sound. 

‘Who does?’ 

Sirius turned to look at him, but he only concentrated on his smile for a moment. Then, his eyes were drawn to something else - two red vertical marks on his throat, which disappeared under his collar. They looked like welts, or perhaps half-healed scratches. 

‘What’s that?’ he asked and pointed at it. Lupin’s smile disappeared at once. He glanced down and tucked at his collar, then up at Sirius. His eyes looked fearful, and despite the calm in his voice, it was obvious that he was lying. 

‘Nothing. I don’t know. Must have scratched against something.’ 

‘It doesn’t look at all good,’ Sirius said and tried to get a better look at the marks, as Lupin continued pull the collar up, shielding them with his hand. ‘You should ask a medic about them.’ 

‘I might,’ he said noncommittally, and Sirius knew he never would. Nevertheless he let it drop. He did not want to annoy him. 

They lapsed back into silence, and the drizzle continued. Occasionally, Sirius would glance over at Lupin. Once, he saw him looking away quickly just as he turned his eyes on him. Sirius turned the question of the marks on Lupin’s throat around in his head. There were many mysteries about him, not just this and the letters. A few times, Sirius had woken up in the night and seen that Lupin’s bunk stood empty. He would be there in the morning, but looking worse for wear, or even more so than usual - he often looked a little sickly. Potter had suggested that Lupin sneaked out to drink, which Sirius found that unlikely, but he had no idea what else it could be. 

The rain was stopping, and it seemed safe to light a cigarette. He was halfway through it when Lupin spoke. 

‘Black?’ 

Lupin was watching him intently, his face solemn. That facial expression looked out of place in the real world, and much more like something one might see in an art gallery. Sirius reflected, as he often had, that it was not actually Lupin’s features that made him so striking, but his bearing. It spoke of some experience beyond the ordinary. 

‘Yes?’ 

‘Can I ask you something?’ Sirius raised an eyebrow and twirled his cigarette around his fingers. 

‘Well, that depends.’ Lupin cocked his head. 

‘On what?’ 

‘If I can ask you a question.’ 

He looked uncertain, but then he nodded. 

‘Alright. But I go first.’ Sirius nodded his agreement and watched how Lupin took out a cigarette of his own. He did not smoke very often, and by the way he lit it slowly, it was evident that he was just stalling for time, not wanting to ask straightaway. Finally, he dragged on his cigarette and turned to him. 

‘Why aren’t you an officer?’ 

Sirius stared at him. He had not expected that. 

‘Why should I be?’ 

‘Well...’ Lupin weighed from one foot to the other,embarrassed. ‘It’s just obvious that you’re...’ He stopped and searched for the right word. 

‘Posh?’ Sirius suggested, failing to hide his annoyance. Lupin sighed, but conceded: 

‘Yes.’ 

Sirius bit his lip. He did not actually want to answer this, but perhaps an honest answer could give him the same from his mysterious friend. 

‘I suppose I am,’ he said at last. ‘Posh, I mean. My father’s a peer.’ Lupin’s mouth fell open. 

‘So you’ll be a...?’ Sirius interrupted him. 

‘No, because my parents disowned me. It’ll pass to my little brother instead.’ As he talked his voice grew more heated. He had thought he did not care about it anymore, but now he felt anger flare up inside of him. Lupin stared. 

‘Why were you disowned?’ he asked at last. Sirius shrugged, unwilling to answer. 

‘I got sent down from Oxford. There was a row. And then my parents disowned me. So I didn’t really have any chance of starting off as an officer.’ Lupin seemed to wait for him to elaborate, but instead, Sirius said: ‘Alright. My turn.’ He nodded, looking rather afraid of what the question might be. ‘How come you never get any letters?’ The way he disappeared in the night and the marks on his throat may be more mysterious, but Sirius had a feeling that he would not answer that. By the look on Lupin’s face, he wondered if he would answer this one either. 

‘I don’t...’ 

‘Come on, answer,’ Sirius said. ‘I answered your question.’ He had been meaning to sound annoyed, but his voice betrayed him, and instead of commanding him, he was asking him. Lupin straightened up, as though he was being courtmartialed. 

‘My parents do not know I’m here.’ 

Sirius almost dropped his cigarette. 

‘They _what_? How?’ Lupin looked away. 

‘They didn’t want me to go, so I told them I was moving to London to find work. Instead, I joined up.’ Sirius rolled his eyes. 

‘Nice someone’s got parents who love them.’ 

‘They do love me,’ Lupin said, but sounded miserable. ‘It’s just... They didn’t think I could manage this.’ 

‘What do you mean?’ Again, he straightened up. It seemed as if he had touched upon some truth he had wanted to avoid. This time, however, he made no attempt to dodge the question. 

‘Ever since I was a child,’ he said, speaking slowly, ‘I’ve had a... condition. A very rare illness. When I was little, I almost died from it. That’s why my parents didn’t want me to join up. They wanted me safe, and they were afraid that all this-’ he gestured around with his cigarette - ‘would be too much for me.’ 

Sirius watched him, surprised. He had before that Lupin had always looked a little too pale and a little too thin, but he had not thought it would be something like this. 

‘But if you’re ill, how did you even manage to join up? How did you fool the doctors?’ Lupin shook his head. 

‘As I said, it’s rare. Very rare. They didn’t realise what it was. They seemed a bit reluctant to let me through, but they couldn’t figure out a reason to disqualify me. And I’m fine - I can still fight. And it doesn’t transmit easily.’ 

Sirius stubbed out his cigarette. 

‘Do you regret coming here?’ Lupin seemed to think about it. Sirius could imagine him listing all the reasons why it was better to be back in Blighty - the shells and the mud and the fleas and the food - but then he spoke. 

‘Not just now.’ He smiled, and to Sirius, it seemed like the sun had come out after all. He smiled back, surprised. 

‘Can I ask something else?’ Lupin said in that soft voice of his. 

‘Ask away,’ Sirius said, still smiling. 

‘Why were you sent down from Oxford?’ He had known that that would be the question, but he looked away from him nevertheless. He did not want to see his reaction.

‘I was caught doing something I wasn’t supposed to do. Something my parents really didn’t approve of. They sent me down instead of sending the police after me. Decent of them, I suppose.’ 

For a few moments, all he heard was the sound of Lupin’s breaths. Finally, he spoke. 

‘What was his name?’ 

Sirius turned around, surprised that he had understood. And then he was not surprised at all. He understood perfectly. At once, everything seemed to lift. The sun was shining, the shells had stopped, the darkness was behind him. 

‘It doesn’t matter,’ he said. ‘Not anymore.’ Slowly, Lupin started smiling again. It was a boyish, tentative smile, and it made Sirius grin. 

‘I’m Remus,’ Lupin whispered. ‘In case you wondered.’ 

‘I did,’ Sirius said. ‘Thank you.’ Then, he added, gesturing to himself: ‘Sirius. Not when the others are around, but...’ Remus nodded and brushed their hands together. 

There were approaching footsteps. Quickly, they turned away from each other and stood to attention. As Major Moody and several other officers passed, they saluted, but even as the old major turned his eery eyes on him, Sirius was fighting the urge to smile. All he wished for now was that they were given some leave before they returned to the front. If they did, he already knew how he was going to spend it.


End file.
